The Bond Between Brothers
by Anjaden
Summary: Takes place after the invasion of Alamut. Garsiv's less-than-happy about Dastan disobeying orders, and he's not afraid to show it. "He could turn his brother into the Lamb of Persia." One-shot.


**So this is the first fanfiction I've written in...years, but Prince of Persia just offered too many opportunities. Dastan and Garsiv need to stop being so unfairly gorgeous. **

**Anyways: This is a one-shot set in the time gap between Persia invading Alamut and the King arriving. They never really show Garsiv's full reaction to Dastan going against orders, so I decided, heck, why not? Because it's his POV he kind of steamrolled Dastan, so I'm sorry he didn't talk much! Garsiv's also going to be melodramatic and overexagerrate some things, because I just got the impression he throws some pretty impressive hissy fits. But mostly this is a story about the three brothers we all know love and how they handle real conflict between each other.**

**So...yea. That's my little shpiel. I hope you guys enjoy it! Reviews would be appreciated.**

**Oh, and you know the drill: I don't own any of these characters. I just borrowed them for fun~**

**

* * *

**

Dastan was beyond lucky that Tus was here in Alamut with them.

Garsiv, second son of Persia's King Sharaman, was ready to wring that cocky smirk off his little brother's face. He could picture Dastan's face when he went from the "Oh-so-noble" Lion of Persia (and what kind of title _was_ that) to being a corpse at Garsiv's feet. Yes, he could turn that smug, disobedient, drunk-half-the-time brother of his into the Lamb of Persia. Tus' "I'm oldest so you have to listen to me" attitude was the only thing keeping little Dastan alive.

All three of them were seated in an empty room in the Palace of Alamut, having recently claimed it for Persia. News of their father's arrival had brought them together to plan who would do what; Tus would talk to him, Garsiv would go yell at some people to do their jobs just to yell, and Dastan would go get drunk because everyone knew he would anyway.

Being in the same room as Dastan had Garsiv's blood boiling. The way his little brother reclined in his chair with his feet on the table, the way he laughed at some stupid comment Tus made, the way he casually ate an apple; all of it was a damn show to make it clear he was ignoring Garsiv. Dastan had a way of brushing things off, and apparently he wasn't fazed by the fact that taking Alamut and the glory of the victory had essentially been spitting in Garsiv's face.

In that split second Garsiv lost it. The prince reached across the table in a flash and seized Dastan's apple out of his filth-encrusted hand, then slammed the knife from his belt clean through the infuriatingly red fruit. He could just pretend the stupid thing was Dastan's head.

The apple wobbled on the table from the force of the knife entering it, then toppled over on its side.

Dead silence gripped the room. Even Dastan's face registered a hint of surprise at how quickly Garsiv had moved. Tus, trying to diffuse Garsiv, set a cautious hand on his shoulder.

Garsiv had had enough of Tus and his diplomacy. He snarled in frustration and shoved the table out of his way, sending the apples and the bowl flying. Garsiv's helmet, normally well –taken- care- of and shined to perfection, went with them, making a loud clanging noise as it bounced into the corner.

Garsiv didn't care. He kicked an innocent apple out of his way as he stormed to the window, leaning heavily on one hand on the wall as he glared out at the courtyard beneath him.

"Garsiv—" Tus began.

"No!" Garsiv exclaimed loudly, punching the wall with his fist before turning around to look at his brothers. "Do not try and make everything better with your pretty little words, Tus! He—" Garsiv pointed angrily at Dastan—"needs to learn how to shut up and follow orders, and no one in this damn family seems to care enough to try!"

"Dastan just saved many Persian—"

"Dastan! Dastan this, Dastan that! When will people realize his name is not some holy mantra!"

Garsiv turned his gaze back onto his youngest brother. "Are you proud of yourself, _Lion of Persia?_" he sneered. "That you have once again directly disobeyed both Tus and I? Do you get some petty satisfaction out of causing us insult?"

For once Dastan had nothing to say. Garsiv chuckled darkly and sauntered over to him, bending over Dastan's chair to loom in his face. "One day, Little Lion, you will meet your match. You'll call out for help and find none. Your…friends...will have all died in your rash stunts, and you will have isolated the two people you used to be able to count on for anything." Tus made some disgruntled noise at his brother bringing him into this, but Garsiv ignored him. Garsiv gave Dastan's chair a rough shove to prove his point and moved away to pace by the wall, ignoring Tus' eyes on him. The other two apparently decided to give Garsiv his moment, because Tus started trying to rope Dastan into a conversation about Tamina.

Tus could pretend he was just 'grateful' to Dastan, but one day he would reach his limit as well. One day he too would be plotting how to strangle the life out of Dastan and hide the body.

Garsiv tightly clenched his fists, his nails leaving angry red grooves in the palms of his hands. He was angry, yes, but what was possibly the most infuriating part about the whole situation however…was that all of his threats against his brother were just talk.

For all his anger at Dastan for just waltzing through the Eastern gate, when the honor of first blood should have been Garsiv's, Garsiv loved the little brat. He would never say as much to anyone, but his actions spoke of it. More than once the second prince had pummeled foreign dignitaries' sons for insulting Dastan's bloodline. Usually he did so when no one else was around, but there had been that time Garsiv jumped across the formal dining table to knock the teeth out of that one particular fool…

Naturally Tus had yanked him off saying violence wasn't the answer or some other inane lecture. Garsiv spit in his food when he wasn't looking.

And here they were, all these years later, bickering just the same. Garsiv had a feeling his brothers had made a pact at some point to antagonize him until he just keeled over dead from it all. Dastan would come barging in, out of nowhere, to somehow seize the day, and Tus would be there to keep Garsiv from choking the living daylights out of every human being in his path-in particular Dastan. It was all very cruel of them.

Dastan, apparently deciding he couldn't resist temptation and bored with Tus' conversation, threw an apple that had been rolling near his feet at Garsiv's head.

Garsiv spun around to glower at Dastan. Dastan, who had stood up at some point, smirked in challenge.

Garsiv charged forward and tackled Dastan to the ground.

The brothers were a whirlwind of fists and elbows, and both of them were making inhuman grunts and yells as they fought to gain the upper hand. Tus was so surprised by the movement , he was too slow to pull the younger men apart.

Eventually Dastan, taking advantage of Garsiv's anger-clouded mind, clocked him under the right side of his jaw, knocking Garsiv's head against the stone floor and leaving him dazed. Dastan seized the opportunity and sat on his brother, one hand clenched around Garsiv's throat just hard enough to keep his head down. Even with Garsiv disoriented, the tendons on Dastan's hand stood out against his skin with the effort.

Garsiv and Dastan made eye contact for several long minutes. They were having some sort of silent conversation, one that no one else would ever be privy to.

Whatever transpired between the brothers, Dastan ultimately released his grip on Garsiv's neck and rolled off of him. The second brother struggled back into a sitting position and rubbed his neck.

Garsiv himself couldn't really explain what had happened. Not to himself, and certainly not to Tus. But in those moments where Dastan had him pinned to the floor, Garsiv recognized that his younger brother wasn't just an immature street- urchin -turned -prince anymore. Garsiv begrudgingly admitted , at least to himself, that Dastan was a man now, and one who was competent enough to take even him on.

It was an uncomfortably cliché moment, but one the pair had needed to experience for awhile now. They had come to a silent understanding.

"You're both knocked in the head," Tus grumbled. Both his younger brothers glanced up at him. Then, together, they started to laugh.

Tus' comment had relieved Garsiv of the strange feeling of…whatever that emotion was. He wasn't good with emotions beyond anger. It felt good to laugh and ignore the fact they he just had a touchy-feely moment with Dastan.

Both men stood back up. Garsiv picked up a nearby apple and shoved it into Dastan's hand. "You chew like a horse. Only more obnoxiously." The jibe was all the vocal indication anyone would ever get that, even though he was angry with Dastan for taking away first blood, he was going to be able to move on.

"You stomp around like a horse," Dastan shot back, walking around in a mockery of Garsiv's heavy footsteps. "We should have horseshoes put on you, so that everyone will have fair warning that Prince Garsiv is on the way. It will spare them the pain of your anger if they can clear out of the way first."

A servant picked that the exact moment to enter the room. Garsiv dropped the hand that had been about to punch Dastan. The boy, who had clearly heard all of the fighting and looked all the more shaken for it, belatedly bowed to the three of them.

"Oh get on with it boy, no one is going to hurt you," Garsiv snorted. He had no patience for people who couldn't talk in front of them without having the words dragged out.

The servant looked like he was about to cry when Garsiv personally addressed him. "The King has arrived, m'lord," he managed to utter, letting out an audible sigh of relief when Garsiv dismissed him with a curt nod and looked back at his brothers.

Tus had begun to straighten his clothes like he always did. Dastan's face had broken into a wide grin because Father had gotten there. Garsiv shook his head at the boyish look on his face and went to retrieve his helmet, tucking it under his arm.

One of the bright red apples had settled near his helmet; the prince couldn't resist temptation. He picked up the apple and hurled it at Dastan, smirking lightly as it smacked him in the jaw. The youngest yelped in surprise and rubbed his now-sore cheek, looking very put out with Garsiv for the low blow.

"Come, Dastan, you wouldn't want to look so much like a kicked puppy in front of Father," Garsiv chided. He had taken what revenge he could on his little brother, and Garsiv began to walk towards the area where they would be reunited with their father.

Tus came up between them, swinging an arm over each of their shoulders. "My brothers," he chuckled, shaking his head in playful exasperation.

Dastan stuck his tongue out at Garsiv over Tus' shoulder. Garsiv flipped him a rude sign with his fingers. Both smirked, and in those mere seconds it was clear that all three Princes of Persia were going to be okay again.

For now. Garsiv hid a chuckle as he slipped another apple into his pocket.

* * *

**Couldn't resist that little foreshadowing about what's about to happen. I've considered making a companion piece set after the King dies that's connected by that apple Garsiv hides, but that depends on what you guys think! If you guys want me to keep writing you'll have to tell me. So reviews, please! **


End file.
